


We Could Stay Like This Forever

by bookandkettle



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anders deserves a happy ending, Angst, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Happy Endings For Everyone, Hawke needs to save everything, Homophobia, M/M, Slow Burn, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-17 08:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5861623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookandkettle/pseuds/bookandkettle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garrett Hawke has his hands full trying to keep everyone safe. Not only is magic illegal, but elves and dwarves are victims of constant prejudice, vampires are part of society and Garrett's life is filled trying to keep the people he loves safe. On top of that? He's an Electrician. And on top of that? He hasn't had a date in three years. Enter Anders, who is beautiful, kind, and kinda-sorta a mage himself who's trying to get away from a cult run by his ex-lover, Justice. Well, crap. </p><p>This is being written because I can't seem to find a long, modern fan fic of Anders/M! Hawke which satisfies my need for Anders being happy. Eventually. We'll have some bumpiness to get through first. Also, I happen to hate Sebastian. If you like him, I apologize. </p><p> </p><p>I will do my utmost to update character and descriptive tags with each chapter. Please point out areas that I need to improve on! I'd really like to know. This will eventually get to Explicitness and Smut---but this is a slow burn, and it will be several chapters before that happens. </p><p>Disclaimer: I do not have a Beta<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It began simply enough, as these things tend to do. After all, what could possibly be life changing about a trip to the grocery, for toilet paper, no less? 
> 
> Not that Garrett Hawke would have described that day as life-changing if you'd asked him....just....interesting. 
> 
> In which Hawke is a good big brother, Fenris is a protective friend, Sebastian is a prick, and Anders is called an angel.

 

 

I was distracted when I went in to the store. Bethany's face, slick with tears, swam before my eyes, and I was having a difficult time holding back my temper. Let me say that no one who knows me well would characterize me as having a particularly ferocious temperament. It's probably more comparable to an angry baby turtle, then, say, a crocodile. Still, he'd managed to find what temper I do have and hone it to a fine rage. He's got skills like that, that Sebastian Vael.

Sebastian is-- _was_ \--dating my little sister. He and Bethy met at work, which I always thought was smarmy, especially since he's about 10 years older than she is, but I've managed to be nice to the guy. But now he's gone and hurt her and the rage I feel tonight makes my chest tight and makes me angry at everything: the way my new sneakers squeak on the too-shiny grocery floor, the way that the old lady behind the cashier stares at my best friend, Fenris, with disapproving eyes. She doesn't like tattoos, that is clear. I thought vaguely that if I had a tattoo, I'd show it to her, in solidarity. Unfortunately I have this thing about needles so I couldn't even act out at the cashier in rage.

Don't get me wrong: I'd gladly take out my rage at Sebastian. Hell, I would gladly kill Sebastian the next time I see him. But Bethany had known the moment after she'd slowed crying in my arms and Carver-that’s our brother--and I headed toward the door in one accord what we were up to. She'd begged us not to do anything, to not get in trouble on her account. But I looked into her face and knew she was also worried about Sebastian getting hurt. She still cared about the shit, I thought, feeling my face burning with agitation as I stalked toward the back the store. Just like Bethany.

I sighed, trying to focus on toilet paper, not on Bethy's trembling voice _"He said he just couldn’t associate himself anymore with people like us...like me..."_. I snatched up a packet of toilet paper, not bothering to look what at kind it was. Fenris, who had caught a ride to the store with me after helping me rearrange my house, again, to make room for a friend of a friend, who needed a place to stay, was silent by my side. I was grateful for that. I needed that right now.

"You get what you needed?" I ask, the words harder in my throat then I intend. But Fenris doesn't get offended and he wordlessly displays the bottle of wine he'd picked up. I nod and we are almost to the cash register when my phone buzzed against my thigh. I half hope it's Bethy telling me to smash Vael's face in, though I know it won't be. It was Bela and I sighed. Fenris smirked slightly as he looked at my phone.

Bela (5:12 pm): u going to help carver n me kick his ass?

Hawke (5:12pm): When I can figure out how to do it w/o bethy knowing

Hawke(5:12): How'd you find out?

Bela (5:12pm): I wanna b there hawkey

Bela (5:13pm): bethy called me I hate that shit

Hawke (5:13): I'm thinking a family beating. You bring the daggers.

Bela (5:13 pm): oh kitten u make me so hott when u talk like that

Hawke (5:13pm): :-p

I am just working on putting my phone back in my pocket, when I caught a quiet indrawn breath from Fenris. For Fenris, this is equivalent to a shout. I look up quickly.

"Hawke," he said in his low voice, "Remember what Bethany said." But it's too late and I've already seen him. I just stand there for a moment, staring. He is standing there with an unknown-to-me blonde man, going through the box of 5 dollar dvds without any apparent care in the world.

I know, I just know, that my sister is currently curled under that ragged old fleece blanket our mother made her years ago, alternating between crying and staring miserably. She hasn't even reach the Ice Cream and Wine stage of her grief. That's how new it is. The nerve of this guy, to be absorbed in DVDs right now. I made my way straight toward him. I wasn't entirely sure what I was going to do. However unconvinced I might be by my sister's logic, I didn't want to upset her more. Still, I couldn't imagine just walking by the guy.

"Got a plan?" Fenris is calm. It helps me think through my red haze.

"I just want to talk to the man."

"Sounds good," grunts Fenris. I know he cares just as much as I do about what happened. I also know that he could take Sebastian down in about 30 seconds, give or take, and it's extremely fortunate for him that Fenris has given up fighting. It's a way of life he was forced into many years ago and he avoids it like the plague now. This works well in Vael's favor.

 _"I thought he cared about me, Garrett."_ Bethy's words make my throat and fists tighten and focus my resolve. Vael is, at the very least, going to explain himself. Fenris, amazing guy that he is, stays right next to me. I know he's got me covered. Bethany, Carver, and I are pretty much family. I keep staring at Vael as we get close to him, and he continues to be unaware of my presence, seemingly engrossed in choosing cheap DVDs.

Sebastian Vael is our resident chaplain at Andraste's Grace Hospital in Hightown. He's shorter than I am (because everyone, ever, is), and nowhere near as brawny. But he's got some pull in this town, due to political ties to everyone from the Mayor (the Vael family govern Starkhaven) to the Grand Cleric, so punching him in the face could possibly mean I lose my job. Which sucks, because I like my job. But his face just looks so damn punchable right now.

"Vael," I finally say after staring at him for at least a minute, during which time he fails to notice me at all. I'm not hard to miss, so I can't help wondering if he's feigning. The blonde man next to Sebastian has certainly noticed me. He's looking at me as unabashedly as I'm looking at Vael.

Sebastian looks up, blue-eyed surprise.

"Hawke, it's nice to see you," he burrs. He's got a Scottish accent that everyone and their mother thinks is sexy, except it isn't. Well, maybe it is a little, but not enough to save his face by far. I narrow my eyes at him, blood thundering in my ears.

"What in the Maker's name did you do to my sister?" I'm surprised how quiet my voice is. I evidently get a little closer to him than either he or Fenris is comfortable with, because he steps back a pace and Fenris lays a restraining hand on my arm. I look at him and he looks right back. Something about that intense gaze of his pulls me back a little. Bethany doesn't need more upsetting.

"I'm not sure I know what you're referring to, Hawke," says Sebastian, going back to his infernal DVDs. I can feel my rage choking me and I take a second to breathe.

"Are you not? Because I just left her pretty damn devastated about 20 minutes ago. Seemed to have something to do with you."

"Whatever is going on between me and Bethany is our affair, surely," he murmurs. His self-righteousness works its way into the words and I am gripping the other side of the DVD bin to keep from lunging at him.

"That's not the way my family works, " I say, hoping I sound cold and smooth, but I probably don't. "We look out for each other."

"So I've heard," murmurs Sebastian disapprovingly, looking at Fenris instead of me with....something in his eye. I feel something nervous unfolding in my stomach but I ignore it.

"Besides, from what Bethy says, you threw her aside because you, what was it? 'Just can't associate with us' anymore. That sounds like more than just about my sister."

Sebastian draws himself up, looking like he's giving a lecture to a naughty child who's being too loud at the Chantry.

"I can't imagine what you think I did, Hawke. You've always been a reasonable man, if a little---irresponsible--but you surely know by now how deceitful it was for your sister get involved with me without telling me about your--proclivities.

I feel something drop in my stomach. Like my heart. Was he saying what I think---?

"Just say what you're going to say, Vael," growls Fenris. Fenris is easily the smallest of all of us here,--by foot in my case-- including the pale blonde who is just looking on, but he's also the scariest. You listen to Fenris when he speaks. Apparently, this fact holds true even for the great Sebastian Vael, also called "The Prince" by some (never me).

"I know you choose to consort with weres and vampires, and that you seem to be friends with elves--" here his cold blue eyes linger on Fenris--" and dwarfs---I knew that when I met your sister. I chose to overlook it--for her sake." Great blazing balls of nugs, I want to hurt him. Smugness rolls off him, and I make a mental note to point out to Bethany at some point that she's so much better off without him. For her sake, indeed.

"They are people too," I can't stop myself, not with Fenris right here. "They can't help what---"

"---but she never told me---" interrupts Sebastian, his burr getting downright chilly, " that you not only harbor mages, but seem to be a part of the very mage underground we're trying so hard to stop, in fact---which, may I remind you, is very illegal--and not only that, but you---" Sebastian wrinkles his nose as he looks from me to Fenris and back again, lowering his voice "you keep male companions, which is a sin unto the Maker. Facts like these could make things very---difficult for you if it were known, let alone for me."

For a second, I am choking on fear. Does he know about Bethany? I look at Fenris, who seems to know what I'm thinking and shakes his head imperceptibly. No. He'd said I was harboring mages. And working for some kind of underground---thing. Surely he'd have more to say if he knew he'd been dating one. One who hadn't used her powers since she was 10-years-old, granted, but still. Pompous ass. I feel like someone has punched me in the gut. So this happened because of me. I'm sorry Bethy. And now far more people I love could get hurt than just my little sister. I feel a rising panic, but Fenris growls and pushes forward, and this clears my head, gives me focus as I stop him with a hand on his shoulder. No use letting Fenris break over this.

I take a deep breath, try to pull it together. No wonder Bethy didn't want me seeking him out. She didn't want me to know Sebastian had left her because of me. But the reality is Sebastian really could make life difficult for Bethany, for me and for our rag-tag family, and I have to dial it back now, as much as I want to destroy him.

"That's a lot of accusations. My personal life has nothing---" Out of nowhere, the thin blonde steps up, arms crossed, glaring up at Vael.

"Accusations indeed, Mr. Hawke. My understanding, Ser Vael, is that you are a servant of the Chantry, namely a chaplain?"

Vael turns his smug face toward the blonde, who I can't help noticing is very pretty. He's also taller than Vael, but not as tall as me, of course. He's slender and pale, with shoulder-length strawberry-blonde hair, and---what color was that? brown?--eyes.

"You know I am, Anders. What is your point?" Sebastian's voice is surprised and annoyed, and he's glaring at the pretty man called Anders. The pretty man I need to stop staring at. I'm angry and scared right now, remember brain? I snap back to attention.

"Well, these are fairly serious accusations," drawls the blonde, a slight smirk on sensuous lips that belies a certain hardness in his eyes. "As you say, magic is illegal. But, aren't these people, this man and elf and this man's....sister was it? under your protection? Aren't they entitled to privacy when it comes to what they've told their chaplain?"

"They--he---is breaking the law. But, more importantly, he's distorting the Maker's plan and submitting to unnatural--"

"How do you know what you are accusing him of is true? Do you have proof?"

Sebastian makes a sound in his throat, his face blotching. "I know from a very reliable source--"

"No proof then," said the blonde man. He steps closer to Sebastian, arms still crossed. "And this comment about his love life, Sebastian." Anders clicks his tongue, shooting a twinkling side-eyed look at me which I feel would have made my face flood red, if it hadn't already been so with anger. Anger, right. That's what we're thinking about here. "I'm surprised at you, man of the Chantry, concerning yourself with such things."

I look at Sebastian, determined to keep my focus on what a rat-bastard he is, and am pleased to see a slow ugly crawl of purple staining his face. Sebastian shifts, gritting his teeth

"It's my job to see that the people of Kirkwall aren't unduly influenced---"

"Are you saying the whole of the Kirkwall population is going to be---what's the word?--corrupted by the sexual preference of one man? My, my. This man must be something, indeed. I mean, to be such an eye-full and able to sway the masses-" The look Anders turns on me now is deliberate, lazily sensual and I find it necessary to stare at my uncomfortable new shoes or squirm under his unexpected gaze. I'm sure he's teasing Sebastian, from the sardonic twist of his mouth, and I try to return the gaze. Somehow, it feels like a challenge.

What----what? What did he say?

Sebastian's frowns deepen, blue eyes sparking displeasure.

"What I'm saying is---"

"What this man does between the sheets is between him, the people he does it with, and the Maker, Ser Vael." The blonde is serious again, and his eyes are off me and I can return to glowering at Sebastian, much to my relief---or regret. "There are no actual laws prohibiting him. Just prejudice. If it's even true. And I suppose you could turn him in for--er---harboring mages, assuming that's even true, but don't you think the Grand Cleric would frown upon a man in your position dating someone whose brother works with mages and using her to get information about the presence of illegal mages? I seem to recall her being most disapproving when you turned in that Alain fellow after he came to the Hospital for aid and sought your counsel. And this time, you don't seem to have any actual proof."

"l---wasn't using her. I had no thought to look for mages involved with such a seemingly pure woman."

The blonde smirked and raised his eyebrows.

"That's not what I recall you saying a moment ago, nor what I shall tell her Grace if I should hear of any problems regarding these people." He stepped even closer to Vael, his honey-colored eyes boring into him, his voice lowering to what amounts to a whisper, and I feel my heart pounding in my chest. "I may not have the political pull you do, Vael, but you and I both know you don't want the Grand Cleric finding out about this."

"You are walking a dangerous line Anders," growled Sebastian, running a hand over his slicked-back hair. "Why are you sticking your neck out for Hawke of all people? Do you even know this man?" Anders turned and made eye contact with me, a slight smile playing around his lips, but his eyes serious.

"Of all people? You make me sound like a reprobate, Seb," I say before I can stop myself, probably to hide how my heart is suddenly lurching oddly when Anders and I make eye contact.Sebastian glares at me. He's always hated that nickname. Score for me. But since Fenris digs his elbow into my side, I shut up. Probably provoking is a bad plan.

"I've never had the pleasure of making his acquaintance before, but I've heard good things. And he's got good hair," there is a smile in Anders' voice.

I blush. Because I'm an idiot like that. And---he's heard of me?

" But I wasn't going to turn them in anyway. I'm also not going to touch such---soiled goods--anymore." At that Fenris and I leap forward, but the man named Anders, stands in front of us, and Vael exist quickly, abandoning his DVDs and stalking away, an angry flush bright on the back of his neck.

"Well, there goes my ride," mutters Anders, but he turns and smiles kindly, beautifully at me and my stomach whooshs. Whooshing stomachs are bad in combination with raw, angry nerves and I suddenly feel queasy. I have to go after Vael---have to pound him---but there are too many things to think about. How in the world did Vael find out about Merrill, who is the only mage I could be considered "harboring", at least currently, if he didn't mean Bethany? And about my being gay? These are not commonly known things. I'm not sure what he meant by mage underground, sounded a bit big for my breeches, really, but how could---and suddenly I realize both Fenris and the blonde are looking at me and saying something I can't quite concentrate on.

Fenris is wrapping his slight but powerful arm around my waist and is saying something I can't quite hear over the rushing in my ears to the blonde man--to Anders, wasn't it? I'm sweating, trembling, leaning against Fenris. He's dragging me forward, or trying to, and then Anders is on my other side, touching me, helping me keep standing while Fenris guides us forward and I want to giggle at that, but I don't, because I know I'll throw up if I do.

A moment later I am sitting on the curb of the parking lot, Fenris' hand on the back of my head, half-holding it down between my knees. The cool night air calms me a little. It slices against my face and stings my eyes and wakes me up, but it does little for the whirling in my head or stomach.

Fenris is stuffing a bottle of pop into my hand and glowering at me, while Anders looks on quietly. I can't quite make myself look at him full on, so I focus on Fenris' familiar scowl.

"You have not eaten today." it's not a question. Even though Fenris has been my best friend since we were both scraggly, scrawny teenagers (well, relatively scrawny), and even though he is tiny compared to me, with his slight elven build and a life that has too often left him scrambling for every bite to eat and every night spent in semi-safety, I'm more then a little afraid of him when he gets that tone. I shake my head sheepishly after obediently forcing down as much as I can of the drink in one go.

"Bloody idiot," he grumbles, sitting next to me and yanking out his phone.

"I was busy," I mutter, pathetically. "There was furniture, and moving and---"

He flashes a glare at me and I swallow the rest of the thought down with my coke.

"You cannot take care of other people if you cannot even remember to eat Hawke."

He stabs at his phone viciously.

"You checking up on--"

"Shut up and drink, Hawke." He continues to stab at his phone while I drink down the rest of the pop, feeling energy return. I am avoiding looking at Anders right now, because I am paralyzingly embarrassed, though I know I owe that man a lot of gratitude.

"Yes, I am checking on the witch," mutters Fenris, his voice softening almost imperceptively.

"Bit disconcerting, what Vael knew." I say, before I think better of it, and Fenris gutting me with eyes.

"So it's true then. Impressive stuff, really." Anders' voice is light, far too light for the implications of what he is saying, but I suspect that's purposeful. He's still standing, and seems to be almost a look-out, hovering over us protectively. Like an angel. A smirky angel. Gah, no Garrett. Don't go there.

"Do you require your gel?" Fenris ignores the angel---Anders, dammit Garrett--- and looks at me carefully, with that serious intensity in his gaze. He's referring to another treatment if my sugar-crash isn't sufficiently helped by the drink. I shake myself experimentally. I may not actually want to stand up yet, but otherwise, I think I'm alright.

"No, it'll be fine," I smile tentatively at him and he grunts back into his phone. But I know he's relieved. I finally let myself look at Anders, who is still standing, watching us.

"Thank you, " I say carefully, but my voice still shakes. "Sorry about all---this--"I wave my hand my general vicinity and he chuckles, shaking his head.

"You're sorry for you?"

"Wouldn't you be?" I groan as another dizzy moment washes through me and I glug more pop.

"I'm not sorry I met you at all, as it happens," he grins, and there's something in that smile that my stomach twitch.

"The witch is fine." Fenris' voice is edgy even for him, and it snaps me back and I look away from Anders. I keep staring at him and it's---very uncool.

"Merrill doesn't know anything about it?" I ask, stressing her name. I don't like him calling her witch, and he knows it.

"It's Merrill. You know she does not." He mutters irritably, but he looks an apology. Prejudices can be hard to overcome.

"Is this Merrill the mage you’re helping?" Anders asks, but before I can say anything, Fenris has stood up

"She is a friend," he grunts.

"We really can't say more than that." I fidget a bit, looking doubtfully at Fenris---surely, after all Anders' help---but Anders himself soothes the situation.

"I understand. My apologies for prying."

"Oh, don't apologize," I say hurriedly. I don't know what we would have done without you....aside from punching in Vael's face, which would possibly have been unwise. "

"You would have thought of something," smiles Anders, his eyes are on me again and I don't know where to look. He offers me a hand to help me up.

"No, I mean it," I say, wishing I didn't still feel weak, but unable to not take the offered hand with its long, narrow fingers. I feel my heart thud in my chest as his strong fingers grip my wrist and pull me upward. I stand up unsteadily and Fenris is quickly by my side, but I brace myself against a nearby car (hopefully the owner won't be back too soon), and manage to smile at Anders.

"So," I ask shakily, "you know Sebastian, I take it?"

Anders nodded curtly.

"I have the deep misfortune of working with him."

I groan sympathetically. Because, it's Sebastian. What else can you do? I realize I am just staring at him and smiling and I look away before I become even more idiotic.

"You're a----chaplain then? You don't look like one." I sigh inwardly at that. What is a chaplain even supposed to look like, you boob?

But Anders laughs. "Thank the Maker for that! No, I'm afraid I'm just a nurse. But I'll take that comment about not looking like a chaplain as a compliment." he chuckles and I suddenly find this whole evening very pleasant.

"I---I hope I wasn't too forward in there," Anders continues, looking a little shy, all of sudden, which surprises me. He seemed very confident when dealing with Mr. Prince, for whom all of Kirkwall bows on bended knee. I may still be slightly bitter.

"Not at all! You were amazing!,"I all but squeak and Fenris elbows me again, and I turn a deeper shade of red then I already was, but I do manage to restrain myself from, hopefully, further overwhelming Anders with my enthusing. "You really did stick your neck out for me," now definitely feeling odd-footed. "Are you going to get into trouble?"

Anders chuckles and shrugs, I follow the movement of the slender shoulders rather than risk making more eye contact.

"Oh, I doubt it. Vael is--very concerned with appearances. If he were to possess proof, that might be a different matter. But he doesn't seem to---for the time being. Of course...." he stops, looking at me again with those not-really-brown eyes and I lick my lips, waiting. "The nature of what you're doing---"

"How do you know what Hawke is doing? Didn't you say yourself that this was all unproven?"

Anders nods quickly, shooting a glance at Fenris before looking back at me.

"But, you'll forgive me, I don't get the impression that it was all untrue. And, I've--heard things."

"You said that," I manage, my breath coming short again. "What was that about? Hearing things? I'm just a--regular guy, really."

"That's...not my understanding," there is something in the tone that makes me flush, or would, if I were feeling better, but before I can say anything, Fenris moves forward. He has been shifting around on his feet for the last few moments and only now do I understand that he's not just bored, but nervous.

"Who are you?" he growls, and Anders puts up his hands in a consolatory gesture.

"He's Anders, the---angel. No, I mean, nurse. Yes, nurse." I mutter, shaking my head to clear it. "Weren't you paying attention?" Fenris is probably frowning at me, but I can't really look at him. Anders is too pretty.

"Yes, I know that, Hawke," says Fenris in a doubtful tone. " I meant---why is he so interested in what Sebastian had to say?"

"I'd like to kick Sebastian," I say, contemplatively. "Hard. Why didn't I when I had the chance?" I hear Anders giggling but Fenris is immediately close, staring at me.

"Hawke?" says Fenris cautiously, his huge green eyes are suddenly in my line of vision and I manage to grin.

"You have pretty eyes, and my head hurts." I inform him. "Also you should be nice to Anders." My head is swimming again but I can hear Fenris huffing. He's squatted down, going through my pack, and I don't resist when he gives me the medication I need. I am sitting down again, groaning woozily. I am too sick to be embarrassed fully, but I know embarrassment is coming. I can feel it.

"Let's get you home," mutters Fenris and I nod in relief.


	2. CHAPTER TWO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out a little more about Hawke and co in this alternate universe, discover that Carver is a jerk, of course, that Hawke likes tea and find out more about Anders.
> 
> I gave this fic an explicit tag but it's going to be a while before we get there....sorry about that. I just really like slow burns.

The car ride back to the house is fairly quiet. I was pretty out of it at first, hardly able to say good-bye to the man who had managed to call off Sebastian. He'd gotten into the car with us at some point, and I am grateful, if a little surprised, I don't have to talk Fenris into it. Fenris isn't a people-person in general, and I was definitely getting a vibe from him about Anders. I wondered if Anders had any idea what he'd done for us. Probably not. I watch him tiredly as he hops out of the car, gracefully drifting toward the Hospital employee entrance. I watch him until I feel a sharp Fenris-sized elbow in my ribs and tear my eyes away from his lovely backside. Don't creep, Garrett. 

I wonder for the first time if he's late to work because of us. I groan. I'm going to have to---I don't know--thank him somehow. How do I do that, I muse....send a thank you card (Thank you for stopping The Prince from destroying my family)? Flowers? I blush a little to myself. Fenris is not in a good mood and is quiet even for him. I don't blame him. I've had two crashes within very short succession because I haven't eaten enough. That kind of behavior, rightly, annoys Fenris. By the time we get home--my house is roughly 15 minutes out from the hospital, on the edge of Kirkwall---I am starting to feel awake again. Though I really do need to eat. 

"I forgot the toilet paper," I mutter, as we pull into the driveway of our shambling old farmhouse. Fenris sighs. I realize that he hadn't been able to get his wine either. 

"I'm sorry," I can feel a flush on my face. "It won't happen again." 

"It better not," he grumps, getting out and wrapping his arm around my waist again despite my protests. 

"Said you were fine before. You weren't," is his succinct rejoinder. I concede his point and let him steer me up the bowing stairs of our front porch to the front door, where I lean heavily against the grey paneling of the house. Fenris works the lock for the usual two or three minutes, keeping up a stream of obscenities the whole time. I also don't blame him for this. I'm a handi-man of sorts---an electrician, in fact, by trade. I fix things. That door? It's been broken for the last two months, give or take. It just---never seems to happen. Well, I don't work with wood---and I grin to myself as I imagine the field day my friend Isabela would have with that comment. 

We enter the house with its large open front room that always, always smells slightly of mint and old-house mold. Merrill very nearly knocks me over with a flying hug. I groan as I hit the wall behind me, my feet slipping on worn wooden flooring, her tiny arms strangling with surprising strength around my neck. 

"You're home!" she chirps while Fenris crankily tries to yank her off me. 

"Get down witch," he snaps. "He had two hypos today." 

"Oh, Hawkey, I'm sorry," her big green eyes get even bigger and she slithers down, grabbing my hand and dragging me toward the giant grey couch that is the centerpiece of the front room. 

Merrill and Fenris have an elvish kinship, but that's pretty much where that kinship ends. Where he is blunt, to the point of rudeness, she dithers. Where her slender, elf-frail appearance makes people who care about her go softly, underestimate her in fact, his body is so thrummed with intensity and focus that most people are a little afraid of him. And those who actually should be afraid of him are terrified. She accepts everything, he questions everything. Even their eyes, both a shade of green I don't think is found anywhere else except in the eyes of an elf, are different. Where her's are clear, limpid, his are deep pools. She uses arcane forces, magic, to defend herself, easy as her breathe and her blood, Fenris has survived by sheer will and strength. He has given up fighting, but as far as I know? He never goes anywhere without a gun. He's not supposed to have it. Elves aren't allowed to try for a gun license. But, there it is. They are the most polar opposite of my friends, but I love both. 

I can see Carver glaring at me through his bedroom door. He doesn't even like it when Merrill hugs me-- well, hugs just about anyone I'm pretty sure, but especially me-- so he definitely wouldn't like me holding hands with her--it's not like I'm gay or anything, after all---but I don't have the energy to spare him right now. I smile my thanks at her when she drapes the faded blue quilt over my shoulders and hips. It's not really big enough to cover my 6' 6" frame, but it's the thought that counts---and this blanket---it reminds me of good things. Bittersweet things. 

"Will you text Sigrun and see if she can stop and get some toilet paper when she goes to work? I know she must still be sleeping. She's working the midnight shift." I murmur to Merrill as I get comfortable. "I may or may not have forgotten to get some while we were out." Anyone else would have ragged on me for forgetting the single thing I'd left the house for, but Merrill understands these things and immediately pulls out her phone. 

"What happened?" I can hear Bethany coming from down hall from the kitchen, worry in her voice. She sounds so much like our mother did. 

"I'm fine," I mumble, feeling horrible guilt as I look at her. Her eyes are still bruised with tears, and it's clear she'd been crying again recently. And I went directly against her wishes in talking to Vael. I hadn't really sought him out, right? I somehow doubt she'll see it that way. 

"He had a hypo," begins Merrill 

"Two hypos," corrects Fenris, grumpily 

"How did you have a hypo? Haven't you been eating?" Bethany smacks my arm and then shoves my legs over on the couch so that she can sit, sighing. 

"Two hypos," repeats Fenris, even more grumpily then before, "and no, he hasn't." 

"What do you want to eat, Gare?" Bethany asks, after punching my arm again, no doubt following Fenris' blabbing about the two hypos. Yes, Fenris, we get the point. 

"I--" 

"I'll fix some tea," chirps Merrill. I smile. Merrill understands my love of tea. "And I have my share of that pizza from last night in the fridge. Oh, no, I gave that to Carver." 

"Merrill, Carver had more than his share of that pizza already," groans Bethy. But I know she's mainly disappointed that she didn't get to eat it herself. 

"Have you ever tried to say no to Carver?" 

"Many times," I grunt, "And I succeed." 

" Well, I think it's very hard. He looks at you with those big blue eyes and you feel like you could give him anything" states Merrill innocently, as Carver comes into the room, no doubt drawn by his name, like Beetlejuice. Bethany and I start to laugh, mainly because Carver is so red and because Merrill honestly means it, and I can see even Fenris grinning under his bleached-white hair at Carver's spluttering. 

"I was hungry, she said she didn't want it!" 

"And it's so hard to say no to you Carver," coos Bethy. 

"Well, it is," chirps Merrill, unperturbed, and we start to laugh again. 

"Leave her alone," scowls Carver, stomping off toward the kitchen, with Bethany scurrying after him with a glint in her eye. We love Carver, but he kind of brings it on himself. Besides, he's Bethy's twin. If anyone has a right to snark at him, it's her. 

Bethany and Merrill come back shortly, Bethany bearing a bowl of previously canned chili. (Bethany does not cook. But she heats things up well.) And Merrill with two huge mugs of tea, one for me (with lots of lemon) and one for her. 

"How's prep for Jowan's room?" We found out about Jowan, a human mage, a couple nights ago, through contacts of my friend Varric, who knows everything and everyone. The energy in the room changes, tightens. We've helped people before, mages being hunted and threatened with lobotomies called Tranquilization, elves being targeted for simply being elves, for example. But this is the first time we've had such a number of people help with a person we don't know. Because we don't. We don't know Jowan. Up til this point, everyone we've gotten to the border, tried to get a second chance, had personal ties to us. I sigh. 

"Good, brother," murmurs Bethy, fussing over my blanket a little. Carver tuts as he comes back, grousing. I sigh. I am not up for a fight. 

"Because we need another stray here." 

"The man needs help, Carv. It'll only be for a couple days. I've already got word through to Tallis and Sera to be ready to pick him up. And Dorian's got plane tickets for him. We get him to the boarder, Sera and Tallis get him to the plane. It'll be fine. Only thing we don't know for sure is when he's getting here. Hopefully within the next week." 

"And what if it isn't fine? We don't need another person living here," snaps Carver, arms over his chest. "I don't care if it's one night or thirty. Every time we bring someone new here you take a risk---" 

"We take a risk. This is something we're all doing." corrects Bethany, frowning at Carver. 

"He takes a risk," argues Carver. "Because none of the rest of us are bringing home people who can't take care of themselves." Merrill chokes a little and I sit up, glaring at Carver. Bethany smacks Carver before going to her, putting her arm around the little elf. 

"He didn't mean it, Merri. He's being an asshole because that's what he does." 

"He sure as hell better not mean it," I snarl, weakness forgotten at Merrill's distress. In the back of my mind, I know that Carver is worried. Sincerely worried. I know that he would never intentionally hurt Merrill. But he needs to stop. Now. 

"No--I---Merrill," his face flushes. "I don't mind you being here. You---"Fenris snorts but no one is paying him any attention. 

"I can look after myself, Carver Hawke," she stands close to him, her little fists curled, and she has to look way, way up because Carver is almost as tall as I am, and I can't quite swallow the smile brought on by watching that tiny personage glare down the brick wall that is Carver. 

"I help. I help with the cause and with getting everyone we can to safety because it's the right thing to do." She jabs a tiny finger into his chest to accentuate her point. 

"I--know." He mutters, face branded red. Merrill takes mercy on him, and pats his arm. 

"Apology accepted," she chirps. I groan, rubbing at my temples. 

"Anyway," I stress, determined to get the information I need before going to sleep. Carver scowls but doesn't say anything else. "We just need Bela to get us a new ID for our guy and we'll have him on the way." 

"Do you know what kind of mage this Jowan is?" It's Fenris asking, his voice calm, belying the endless anxiety he has over new mages. Well. He has his reasons. I smile a little self-deprecatingly at him, spreading my hands. 

"All I know he is got put on the docket for Tranquility, and escaped somehow. Dorian has a--hem--friend in that particular Circle, and let us know." 

"Dorian picked him up?" Fenris is examining his fingernails with great dedication. 

"Yes, Dorian," I nod. 

"I trust the mage's judgment." Bethany and Carver both roll their eyes but I stride on, fairly sure that Fenris has completely deluded himself into believing that no one knows of his interest in charming Dorian Pavus, Trevniter Mage and all. I am certain the only person in our immediate circle who doesn't know is Dorian himself. Not a can of worms I have the energy for tonight. 

"So, we should expect him sometime this coming week, maybe as late as next. Thrask wasn't able to be clear on the details." Thrask is an old friend of my father's, helped him escape trouble with Templars more than once. He's getting on in years, and I worry a bit about his health recently and the ever present possibility of his getting caught helping the very people he's supposed to be apprehending, but his help has been invaluable. 

Bethany takes my hand and squeezes, and I let myself slump back down into the couch, fighting off worry. Carver is right, of course. Every time we do this, we threaten our little world. Everytime I get Varric to tell me something, Bela to fake papers, Dorian to participate in moving escaping mages and elves into safer lands, I endanger them all. Worry crowds me until I can't handle anymore and I fall asleep, only vaguely aware of the rise and fall of voices. 

It's a little after midnight when I wake back up. My phone is vibrating. Isabela. I rub my eyes open and swipe through the messages. Bethy or Merrill must have texted her about the hypos. 

Bela (10:01pm): u better not die hawkey 

Bela (10:01pm): my bday party is next sat 

Bela(10:02pm): die after that 

I grin to myself. Isabela works at the Hanged Man, best pub in Kirkwall---or the best one I can afford, whichever comes first. She was the first person I met after moving here well over 6 years ago, and has been one of my best friends ever since. She also has certain skills which have been useful to us getting people out of trouble. People we know, says a small voice in my head and I shake myself. I am not going to think about this. Know him or not, I can't be aware of someone running from the starburst brands and not help. 

Hawke (12:09am): Your compassion is truly touching 

Bela (12:11 am): u no I luv u 

Bela(12:11am): u awake? cum 2 hanged man 

Bela(12:11 am): im borrrrreeedddddddd 

Hawke (12:12 am): What did you expect for Friday morning? 

Bela (12:13 am) my big boy 2 keep me happy 

Hawke (12:13 am) I have to work in the morning 

Bela (12:15 am) no fun 

 

I put the cell down and stretch, feeling my toes crack against the opposite arm of the couch. There's a light on in the kitchen, which means that Sigrun probably forgot to turn it out on her way to work. She has the third shift in The Bone Mines, which Bethy tries to talk her out of at least once a week. Siggy's stubborn though, and I think she actually likes the camaraderie down there. Not a whole lot of miners have a problem with dwarves, and there is the added bonus of no sunlight. Sigrun is a vampire and a dwarf. A difficult thing to be in Kirkwall. Dwarves have it better than elves, but it's been a downward trend for some time. Dwarves who are already established members of the business community tend to do fine--I even work for one. He's a great boss. But coming here as an Orzammar cast-off or surface dwarf from, say Fredelan or Antiva? Getting good work is hard. We'd offered to help her get back to the Dwarven City of Orzammar, or at least get a start, but she elected to stay with us--Orzammar's not kind to some of her people, if Sigrun's experience is anything to go by---and we're very fond of her. 

I shift and cuddle back into the couch, floundering around for my blue quilt. My bedroom's up in the attic, but I sleep on the couch often enough. It's actually big enough to fit me, for one, for another, though I would never admit this to anyone, there are nights when I sleep downstairs because--well---for "just in case" reasons. 

These are difficult times for anyone who isn't human and non-mage, let alone weres and vampires. I worry about the people I have here. There's Merrill, who is not only an elf, but a mage, Sigrun, who was with Bethy the whole two years we were separated in foster care. There's Fenris, who is an elven were. He doesn't actually live here, but he lives in the old guest house that belonged to this house in grander times, and that's right inside the property line, so it counts. My sister, of course, even though she is a an avowed Andrastian and non-practicing is in danger too. If the wrong people found out about any of us ,we all know we'd have to run. Kirkwall is our home, and we do what we have to to keep that from happening. Carver and I are the only "socially-acceptable" people who live here, and that's doubtful too, what with our "associations". These people are my family, and I'd do anything for them. So, on anxious nights I sometimes pretend to fall asleep downstairs, just so I can be sure of hearing any problem first. I will not let anyone be taken from me. 

I stretch again and flip on a lamp, with some vague idea of getting some more tea. Tea is my comfort zone. It's the middle of the night, but once I'm awake, I'm awake. It's the way it is. I notice something shifting in the corner, and then realize with a jolt that Fenris is still here. He has a habit of simply being places without having apparently actually arrived there. Like a ghost. And he's no stranger to sleeping here. I should be used to this. As it is, my heart is beating a little more energetically then it was before. 

"Fenris!" I shout-whisper. Carver's room is right off the main room, and you don't wake Carver unless you are looking for a whole day of puddles and wails from him. If you are, go for it. I'm not at the moment. Fenris grunts and looks at me, his eyes on mine for a moment, but not seeing me. I know that look, and he's clearly not being sleeping. 

"What's wrong?" I ask, sitting up and trying to flatten down my wayward hair. 

He's hiding under his hair again, never a good sign, curled tightly in the corner armchair that we all know as Fenris' chair. He doesn't speak for several beats. Then: 

"I do not like what the nurse was hinting at. You should not either." I frown, and shake my head, pressing my finger to my lips. I try to get out to the kitchen quietly, but I'm not built for quiet, and I end up crashing straight into the garbage. But after a moment of padding around not-so-sneakily, I see that I was right about Siggy forgetting the kitchen light. It's a personal calling card of hers. Merrill's room is dark, Carver is snoring away, and Bethy's door is closed, no sound but the soft whisper of a fan that she lets blow all year 'round. We are the only people awake in the Hawke Mansion (we call it Mansion because it was, once, and it sounds better than derelict fixer-upper). 

"He helped us, Fen. What's the problem?" I whisper, as I stumble over my own feet trying to get back quietly into the living room. I angle my head to try and see his face under the bang of white that hangs over his eyes, but I don't try to get too close. I've known Fenris since we were kids in foster care together, and he needs his space sometimes. You respect that if you want to keep all your limbs and appendages, never mind your friendship. 

"You have put your life at risk---several times---helping people," he growls. " Like Merrill and that Feyenriel guy....and Sigrun....and...me. Now this new mage. He, this nurse, sounds like he knows something about that. It---worries me."He keeps his voice low too, though that's far from unusual, and he watches the hall entrance for me. 

Fenris avoids eye contact as a general rule, and when he's upset making eye-contact with him would probably require chains and something to prop his eyelids open. I give up trying to meet his eyes and satisfy myself with curling back under my quilt. 

"Fen, my life at risk is a---mild exaggeration, at least," I sigh. We've had this argument many, many times. 

"You think the Templars who were after that Feynriel kid would not have killed you on sight as another mage before asking questions? If you'd been caught---" He leaves it hanging. 

"I can defend myself. You know I can." 

Fenris shifts, looks at me, looks away. "You do not wish to fight anymore." 

'No, I don't." I agree. "But if you knew some of the stories I've heard. Mages are people. Dwarves are people. Elves are people. If I can help, I have to help. " 

"You do not have to. You choose to." It's neither condemnation or praise. I go silent. Not because I necessarily agree, but because I don't regret helping that kid. He was harmless, a good kid who'd gone to school with Bethy. He also happened to be a mage. He used to come by for dinner or a game of kickball. I'm just glad we'd been successful at helping him---It makes me shudder to think what would have happened if we hadn't. It's one of those things Fenris and I have to agree to to disagree on. 

"I just---Hawke," he hesitates, "He made me nervous. He said a couple times he has heard of you. Where from? What about? And why did he help us?" 

'I don't know," I'm glad Fenris isn't looking at me because the memory of Anders saying he'd heard good things about me makes my ears a little warm and my mouth twitch. "You think I should talk to him again?" 

"When you're not half-fainting all over the place? Yes. Advisable." I look up and I'm surprised by the intensity of the worry on his face before he smooths it away. 

"Hey," I mutter "Fenris, it's fine. He didn't seem like a threat to me." Fenris sighs. 

"You do not see threats anywhere, Hawke. And you have been wrong." I stiffen and he seems to know he's gone too far. 

"I----sorry." 

"S'ok." I shake it off, the image of my mother's face on the evening news, and manage a smile at him. He's my best friend and I couldn't do without him. "Well, need to thank him properly. You know how bad it could have been if he'd not interfered? If Seb had really gotten his nose into what I've got going on here? So, I'll figure out a way to thank him, and maybe through that we can find out more about him." 

"Yes. I do know. Does this have anything to do with the fact that he was laying it on a little thick for you?" 

"Oh, he was not. Probably just his way. Charming---and things." 

Fenris shakes his head but doesn't pursue the point. "Take me along if you get around to talking to him." 

I grin. "Going to protect me from the big bad nurse?" He chucks a pillow at my head and then pulls a blanket off the back of the chair, draping it over his slender form. 

"You really think he was flirting?" 

"Hawke." I blush at Fenris' raised eyebrows. 

"Well, it doesn't matter anyway," I mutter. "You know I don't date. Even if he was actually interested. Which I find doubtful." Fenris doesn't say anything, and I'm grateful. Being gay in the Free Marches is not what I would call easy, but it's nothing compared to what Fenris goes through, and I know it. I really have no right to complain. I haven't dated in a little over three years. I've probably forgotten how, and there's no point in drawing added attention to our unique family. Not that he'd even go for someone like me, I'm awkward, I'm geeky, I got sick twice in half-an-hour in front of him--- he's just way, way out of my league. 

Fenris keeps staring at me. I snap back to our conversation. "So what do you propose I do? Go up to him and ask him how and what he knows about us? How do you think Seb found out, anyway? About my preferences---" Fenris gets up and shuffles over to me, gracefully folding himself onto the couch next to me after punching me in the arm. 

"You are gay, Hawke. It is frowned upon here, and it is wise that you choose to be cautious---but the people here are wrong. You should not be ashamed of who you are." I smile weakly, because Fenris is a good friend. He sighs and tucks a piece of hair behind his ear. "I do not know how Vael would have heard. Perhaps Bethany?" 

I shake my head quickly. "No way. Absolutely not. She knows what we have at stake here, she'd never talk to him about stuff like that." 

Fenris shrugs, "Maybe she felt more strongly than you realized." 

I sigh. "I'll talk to her. I have to anyway. She's not going to be happy when she hears I confronted him at all. How do you recommend finding nurse Anders? Maybe I could rough myself up a bit and get admitted to the hospital---he could give me a check-up." I'm not serious, but it's so worth it to hear Fenris' half-amused chuckle-scowl that he does so well. 

"Or maybe find out what Bethany knows about him first." 

I frown."Why would Bethany know anything about him?" 

Fenris blinks at me. 

"They work in the same Hospital, do they not? It is possible she has interacted with him." 

I sit up bolt up-right, heart pounding. 

"Oh, Maker! I didn't think of that. What if he says something to her tomorrow?" 

"Hawke, he did not seem know anything about Bethany tonight." 

"I've got to ask her," I interrupted, standing up so quickly I half fall over the coffee table. 

"Hawke---Hawke!" hisses Fenris as I hurl myself unthinking toward Bethy's closed bedroom door. 

"You idiot, you cannot wake her at 12: 30 on a work night!" Fenris is still trying to keep his voice down, but I can hear him and I manage to stop myself just as I almost collide with the bedroom door. 

"But--I don't want her to find out from someone other than me that I talked to Sebastian," I said, remembering to whisper. Fenris scowls. 

"And the solution to that is to interrupt her sleep before going to work?" 

I groan but trudge back to my couch. I'm going to be a nervous wreck tomorrow. Fenris seems to read my mind and pats my arm before climbing back into his chair. 

"Try to get some sleep Hawke," he yawns. 

As I lay down to try and get a couple hours in before I have to be up I try to keep the ghosts of my worries away, but they bleed through my thoughts and into my dreams, where I am searching endlessly for my friends, who all have gone missing and a certain blonde man keeps running ahead of me, never seeming to hear his name as I call him. 

The morning comes quickly---I'd probably managed to get to sleep somewhere around one, but I have to be up at four-thirty. Yes. Four-thirty. I guess I can't complain too loudly though, since I may choose to do that. I like to run before going into work. Being an electrician is a physical job, and the running helps me warm up and stay loose through the day. 

I've gotten my water, managed to get on my running shorts, my shoes and am currently picking a music program to listen to during my jog when Bethy stumbles out of her bedroom. She looks me over, takes in the running shoes and water bottle, and makes eye contact with me. Blurry, I'm-not-really-awake, ferocious eye contact. 

"Where do you think you're going?" 

Someday I'm going to tell her how much she looks like mom when she does this angry mother-hen thing. Today's not that day though. 

"I---running?" I'd been aiming for a confident,' I-know-what-I'm-doing' tone, but it came out more like an' I'm-not-committed-to-this' question. 

"No." She says, calmly, and meanders over to the ancient coffee pot that still works miracles, apparently, though I don't drink coffee. 

"But it's important that I warm up for work," is that a whine in my voice? There's no way I'm going to win this. 

"No." 

"But Alistair---" 

"I said no, Garrett. Text Alistair and tell him you can't make it. Or I will." Alistair is my running companion, and has been a very good friend. 

"I'm a grown man. And I'm older than you," I grumble. Or wail. Probably wail. 

She leans down and plants a kiss on my cheek as she passes me to grab a coffee mug from the cupboard. "You're a old, grown man who had two crashes yesterday," she says, busily pulling cream out of the fridge. "And one who's not going for runs the morning after, especially since he hasn't been to doctor yet." 

"I don't really need to go to the doctor--" but she quails me with a look and I sigh. "I suppose I could see if the walk-in clinic can take me before noon today. But I have to be at work after that. Bodhan's got a new client and we're briefing about that today." 

"Why not go to Wynn?" Wynn is my usual health care provider. She's been looking after us since we moved here. She's a good RN and a busybody who loves to give unasked for advice, especially about your health and dating life. And I love her. She's the closest thing I've had to a parent figure in a long, long time. 

"She's out-of-town, remember?" I decide to make myself a cup of tea if I'm not going running. "Going to visit that Anerin guy, again. I think there's something going between them." 

"Garrett Hawke he's at least 20 years younger than she is!" Bethany is delightfully scandalized. 

"Don't underestimate smart, attractive older women, Bethy," I say seriously. She rolls her eyes. 

"You're not even into women." 

"No, but if I were..." I wiggle my eyebrows and she smacks my arm as I sit down next to her. She sips coffee and rubs sleep out of her eyes. She still looks so young, I think, studying her face. She also doesn't look like she slept well. I reach out my hand and take one of her little ones. She smiles at me, but her heart isn't in it. 

"I'm going to miss him." 

I wince. "I know," I say, "I'm sorry." 

"You never liked him anyway." It's not an accusation, thankfully. It's just---sister knowledge, I guess. I become very interested in the well-known contents of my IPod, and shrug. 

"I---had doubts," I admit, uncomfortably. "I tried though." 

"I know." She lays her head on the table and sighs. 

"I ran into him, last night," I say it really fast. Like pulling off a bandage. On my chest. Which is hairy with a lot of hair. Her head snaps up. 

"You what?!" 

I shift a little nervously. "I ran into him. At the store. By the Maker, Bethy, it wasn't on purpose. He was just there---" insensitively looking for cheap movies, I finish in my head. 

"What happened? Did you talk to him? Oh, hell, you talked to him." She looks distressed and angry, but I'm not sure the anger's at me. I sink back into my chair and cup my tea in my hands. Carefully. 

"I did. But, that's all I did. He---said---well, he told me." 

"Told you what?" I don't look at her. 

"Told me why you broke up. That it's because of---well, he thinks I'm involved with some mage-underground thing. Man, it sounded really mysterious. Almost sexy. Too bad I had no idea what he was talking about." Her breath catches, and I see that, whatever she expected me to say, it wasn't that. 

"He knows about Merrill and Feynriel? About me?" 

"I don't think he knows about you," I say quietly, gently, looking into those big, frightened eyes. "But I think he knows, at least in a rumor mill kind of way, about Feynriel. Maybe Merrill. Not enough to put names to it, because I think he would have done if he could have. But---somehow he knew. " 

"But--how?" 

I just look at her. 

"Garrett. I didn't. I really didn't tell him anything about that. " 

"I believe you," I say, because I do. "Honestly, I think the mage underground thing is a separate thing from our mages. Because he kind of talked like they were two separate offenses, so to speak. Harboring mages, is what he said, exactly, and then accused me of helping with the underground thing." 

"You don't think what we do is---a little more than harboring mages?" She looks at me doubtfully. I try for a nonchalant shrug. 

"I still get the feeling he was talking about something bigger than what we do." 

"I don't know. This thing with Jowan isn't like what we did with Merrill or Feynrial. We already knew them, and we helped them along. We don't know---we don't know Jowan. I think this is bigger than you are realizing." 

I don't have anything to say to that. " You have any idea where he could have heard? Any at all?" 

She shakes her head, slowly. Then, she laughs uncomfortably. 

"I honestly thought he was going to say something else." 

"Like that he doesn't approve of the fact that I'm gay," my voice is flat. She winces, her face flushing angrily. 

"Why are guys such dicks?" 

I shrug and rub her back. "If you figure that out, let me know." 

"I would have broken up with him, Garrett, even if he hadn't left me. Because---you know--he was just such a douche," she says that word like it's poison. "He'd asked me about why you never seemed to date or anything...and I kind of told him some about Cailan." I stiffen, pull my hand back to my tea, avoid her eyes. 

"I'm sorry he left because of that." 

"I'm just sorry I didn't know sooner what a grade A asshat he is," she said staunchly. And I can see she mostly means it. It still hurts her. But---she really hates whatever it was he said about me and my "preferences." 

"Garrett," she hesitates, and I know before she opens her mouth where she's going with this. I feel my stomach twist and my walls slide up. "When are you going to date again? It's been--what? over two years since Cailan." 

"Three." 

"Three years? Oh Gare." She looks at me as if I'm dying. 

"Bethy, you know---it's...it's a little frowned upon here. To be gay. And---I'm really busy. With everything." 

Nothing I can currently think of would make me admit to her that protecting her, my family, is a huge part of why I don't date. That's what I tell myself anyway. And most of the time, I believe it. Here's the thing, I'm not, by nature, a casual dater. Never have been. And I can't really imagine trying to have a relationship with a guy and not tell him everything about my life. Even the semi-dangerous bits. Especially those, really. And I can't. I can't tell anyone. Because to lose Bethany, or Merrill or Siggy or Fen---it's not an option. 

"So what if it is? You can't be alone forever. You don't deserve that. You deserve to be happy." 

"I am, Bumble," I say, resorting to my childhood nickname for her to get the frown out of the corners of her mouth. "I am happy. I've got you--and Fen--Merrill is pretty much like another sister," I say as the said Merrill twirls (literally) into the kitchen and beams at me. "I even have Carver, for, you know, what that's worth." Merrill perches herself on my lap and helps herself to an orange from the fruit bowl in the middle of the table. 

Bethany rolls her eyes at me. "I'm not accepting this, Garrett Hawke. I'm not giving up on this." 

"What are we not giving up on Hawke about?" asks Merrill, peeling her orange. 

"He needs a date, Merrill. Badly." 

"Oh, Hawke. I'd date you. Except, you know, you like men. I'm not a man. Also, I think I'd prefer to date a man who's not my brother." Bethany and I laugh, and I kiss her cheek. 

"Thank you Merrill." She smiles smugly. 

"By the way, Bethy---I---was wondering. Do you know a guy named Anders?" This is totally related to the Sebastian conversation. It has nothing to do with the conversation about my lack of dating. At all. Bethany, who had gotten up and was heading to the bathroom turned in surprise. 

"Anders? I know a nurse Anders. He's not usually on my floor, but every once in a while he'll show up if we are short of hands. Is that who you're talking about?" 

"He's...uh...got longish, blonde hair...kind of slender?" And eyes I can't decide the color of, and these gorgeous fingers, and, from what I could see of it under his scrubs, an amazing ass...snap out of it Garrett. 

"Well, I'd call him strawberry-blonde, but---wait---" Her eyes are on me and I am desperately trying to avoid them by suddenly remembering I need to make myself lunch to take to work, which I need to start getting ready for soon. I gently slide Merrill off my lap and go to the refrigerator, using the open door as a kind of shield between us. 

"Where did you meet Anders, Garrett?" 

"He--uh--was apparently with Seb last night. Seb was his ride, or something. I never---got the whole story." Bethany waits, knowing, with that sister-sense, that there's more. I hunt in the fridge, and am happy to find some cold, leftover chicken that I will make into a sandwich for later in the day. 

"What did you talk about?" 

"uh---What?" I blink at her. 

"Well, clearly, you had to have talked to him, Gare. Or you wouldn't have known that he may have known me." I sigh. 

"Look, it's not a big deal. He and I got talking after the whole Sebastian moment. And--I'd like to---there's something I need to talk to him about. I didn't get his number." 

I know I'm being really, really lame, but I can't bring myself to tell her that outside assistance was needed to call Sebastian off. She doesn't need to know that he is, potentially, very dangerous to us, to our little family. Bethany and Merrill are both staring at me. 

"You liked him." It's a statement, and while Merrill is grinning, Bethany is not. I'm going to deny it anyway, but why is she not grinning? I feel like, given the conversation we just had, she should be grinning. 

"No. I mean, I liked talking to him. And I do, really, need to talk to him again. Is---there something wrong? You don't like him, I take it?" 

Bethy shakes her head, and walks away for a moment, then comes back with a comb. She looks at me while running the comb through her long, brown-black hair. We have the same hair, thick and wavy. 

"No, I actually really like him. A lot. Not in that way," she swats at me when I raise my eyebrows. "He's a little too McDreamy for me. But, no, I like him. Almost everyone does. He's one of those people that you either---just really like or can't stand, I think. Anders is..." she's weirdly thoughtful about this. Cautious. I feel something sinking in my stomach, but I am working on keeping my face smooth, and can't pay too much attention to that sensation. "Anders is a great guy. He's good with the patients. Oh, so good. He's good with everyone....he's....very charming." 

"But?" 

"But---I---he's a flirt, Gare. I don't...I mean, maybe you really do have something to talk to him about but, I think you should know." I know suddenly why she's warning me, even though I feel an unexpected bubble of resentment in my belly at her words. She's warning me because of Cailan. Cailan was a flirt too, a definite, constant, unabashed flirt, only he didn't stop at flirting, naturally. 

"Well, I'll be careful not to print the wedding invites too soon," I quip, grinning at her. She's not fooled, I don't think, but she has the grace to blush a little. "I only talked to him for a few moments, Bethy. I'm not exactly in danger of getting my heart stomped on quite yet." She reaches down and hugs me. I swallow the annoyance I feel, because, really, I am probably more embarrassed about the fact that she feels the need to protect me from a man I have spent less than an hour with than anything else. I'm not quite that pathetic---I hope. 

"Well, he works on the second floors, days, though he picks up a lot of extra shifts whenever. Comes in late frequently, always brings amazing donuts when he does," she grins, warmly. Clearly, whatever her compunctions are about my interest in talking to him, she does sincerely like him. 

"Great," I say lightly, watching as Fenris trudges very moodily into the kitchen, pulls out his absurdly large coffee mug and fills it with black coffee, glowering the whole time. I will say here that I am endlessly amused by Fenris' grumpiness. "Any ideas on how I can get in touch with him?" I can feel a slight blush up the back of my neck, because I know that Fenris does not approve of Anders, apparently on some instinctual level, because we certainly didn't spend much time with him, but Fenris doesn't say anything. Possibly, he's still half-asleep. 

"I don't have his number Gare. But I'll see if I can get it, or maybe his email off the work list." I grab at that. 

"Yeah, do that. I don't---I don't need his number." She looks at me oddly and Merrill frowns. 

"But I thought---" 

"Shhhh, Merri," Bethany hooks her arm around Merrill's waist. "Garrett doesn't know what he wants and he definitely needs to get ready to go to the walk-in clinic if he plans to be back to work in time."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we come across sweet Nathaniel Howe, adorable Dagna, and remind ourselves that Anders is hot. Also--Hawke may be slightly socially inept in this chapter...
> 
> This is not my favorite chapter--but I needed it to introduce some ideas and people. The next chapter is a bit more interesting, imo. That should be coming in a day or so.

Getting in and out of the walk-in clinic proved to be easy enough. I was right though---it had been more or less unnecessary. The doctor, a squirrelly, unpleasant little man named Uldred, reviewed my eating habits (I'm not perfect, but I generally stick to a fairly healthy diet), warned me not to drink too heavily (last drink I'd had had been some three weeks prior), and warned me that heavy exercise, everything from over-doing the running to sexual activity could lead to a hypo. I don't bother to point out, again, that my job is pretty labor intensive, and that I don't usually have hypos and that I haven't had _any_ Maker-damn sex in far long than I want to remember. So, it's a great visit with Dr. Uldred. It's all stuff I've heard for years, but, still, lovely way to start the day.

Luckily, I don't have hypos often. These are the first I've had this year at all, for example. I text my boss, Bodhan, as I shrug on my jacket and head out the door. I wonder if Nathaniel is back from vacation yet. I am, vaguely, curious about who our new clients are. Bodhan was very excited about them, even more excited then he usually is about such things. He always takes a new contract as some kind of personal validation, I think.

I work at a small, but well-established, electrical company: Bodhan and Son. It was established before I ever moved to Kirkwall, and has maintained a good client base, which is probably why it's still in business. Bodhan and Sandel, his son, are Dwarves. They are also some of my favorite people in Kirkwall.

"Hey Hawke," says a soft, slightly shy, male voice behind the door as I let myself in to the small blue building. I grin.

"Hey Nathaniel. You're back--how's Delilah?" Nathaniel is another Electrician. He's about my age, and has been working for Bodhan's since before I moved to Kirkwall. He'd been gone for a couple weeks to visit his sister and help with her wedding. I'm glad he's back. We've always been friendly at work, and I've had him to the house and gatherings at the Hanged Man a couple times. I like his gentle, serious persona, made even better by the times when he suddenly cracks a joke. He's a good guy.

"She's great. I like her husband. Nice guy."

"That's good. Wedding went well, then?"

"Eh. You know how family is," grimaced Nathaniel and I pat his back in solidarity. His family is the kind that can't pleased no matter what you do apparently. "But I think she had a good time, and that's what matters."

"I'm glad she's had better luck then Bethany," the mention of sisters and their significant others bringing rat-bastard squarely to mind.

Nathaniel looks at me somberly as I dig through my locker for my toolkit. Never doubt that one of the best parts of being an Electrician are the power tools.

"Something happen with Vael?" he asks quickly. I am wrestling with my vest, and not looking at him as I do it, hoping he won't notice how clumsy I am. Again.

"They broke up."

A sudden, very loud, crash, and a slight grunt from Nathaniel brings my eyes into contact with him. He's somehow dropped the tool set of wretches he was carrying, and I scramble over to help him, grinning, because who was I to worry about being clumsy after that. I help him gather up the wrenches and he smiles his thanks at me.

"So---what happened with, you know, your sister and--"

"Rat-Bastard" Nathaniel and I say together, and I laugh.

"I've said it before."

Nathaniel's blue eyes spark amusement. "Oh, maybe once or twice. It's too bad. I hope she'll be alright."

"Oh, I'm sure she will. She's got a lot of things going for her. _Too many for the comfort of protective older brothers_. I never understood why Vael." I shrug open the door to Bodhan's office as Nathaniel comes in behind me.

"Well, he's---Vael, isn't he? He's got good standing in this town and women in general seem to find him---appealing. "

"That's not Bethany's style," I insist. "She dated this kid in high school, I'll never forget. Merin. He was a great guy, but certainly, not on the social scene. A dwarf. Our uncle Gamlen had a near heart attack over that. I think it might have gone somewhere, if Merin hadn't had to move so far away for schooling." Dwarves have a difficult time getting into good schools in the Free Marches.

Nathaniel is quiet for a moment while I straighten myself up, preparing to meet with the boss.

"Vael never deserved someone like---someone like her though. Did---did he hurt her?" I look at Nathaniel, a little surprised by the intensity of the question.

"She's upset. But she told me herself that she would have ended it if he hadn't. He was apparently extra charming in their last moments together."

"Is--is there anything I can do?" I look up at Nathaniel from the chair I've taken while we wait for Bodhan. He's got a long, muscular build, long black hair he keeps tidily in a bun and warm blue eyes, and a, frankly, beautiful nose. He's not looking at me, and I'm feeling a little over-tired with the lack of sleep last night and all the confessionals this morning, so maybe I'm imagining the odd note in his voice. It's a slightly ragey note. He's met Bethy a few times over the years, but I didn't think enough for him to have a vested interest in her love life. Still, Sebastian bashing is welcome by me in any and all quarters.

"Keep an eye out for a half decent guy for me for when she's ready to date again," I sigh, only half-joking. "Also, maybe punch Vael---you know, for Bethy's honor? I know you run into him from time to time."

Like Vael, Nathaniel is from "good" family. Rendon Howe, Nathaniel's father, is as wealthy and pretentious as his son is down-to-earth. Unlike Seb, though, Nathaniel doesn't flaunt or talk about it at all except to occasionally, and mildly, grouse about the dinner parties he gets roped into. I think he's a bit of a black sheep in his family. I know he runs into Sebastian at those dinner parties, though, and I have sudden wonderful visions of serious, good-natured Nathaniel dumping the punch bowl over Seb's neatly slicked hair. Nathaniel looks at me, seriously, naturally.

"I just might do that, Hawke." I'm slightly unnerved by the absolute lack of humor in his expression, and it suddenly occurs to me that he's sincerely upset for Bethany. He's such a good friend. I clap him on the arm, and, to break the tension, I say,"Hey---you're a half-decent guy. Bethy's always liked you. You're still single, yeah?"

I'm teasing, but Nathaniel turns a surprising shade of red. Just at that moment Bodhan busily comes in, smiling, and we both turn our attention to the boss, I still trying to work out the amazing red blush on Nathaniel's cheeks.

"Good morning, good morning boys!" He says with his usual cheeriness. "Well, we have ourselves quite a day today, quite a day." He puffs his broad chest out and looks at us with the air of a person giving an especially wonderful Christmas gift.

"Don't hold us in suspense, Bodhan, what is it?" chirps a new voice, and there is Dagna, electrician, intellect, and dwarven ray of sunshine. I love Dagna.

Bodhan claps his hands together, and puts his arm around Sandal, his adopted son, who came shuffling in behind Dagna and is currently standing mutely by his father.

"Apparently, the Andraste's Grace Hospital in Hightown is renovating their basement! They are planning to add a whole new wing down there, and have contracted us to rewire it." He beams, genuinely overjoyed. Dagna giggles.

"Oh, that will be amazing. That's such an old building, it's sure to be quite a challenge," she laughs, barely containing her pleasure. Nathaniel and I make eye contact, and then just look away. It's certainly going to be a challenge. That building is old, very old, and huge. But, while Bodhan explains our work schedule and shows us floor plans, I find that somewhere in the back of my mind, the refrain: Anders works there, has begun.

 

 

"Well, Dagna was certainly right," comments Nathaniel to me as he returns from break in the hospital two days later. He, Dagna and I have begun the mammoth work down there.

"Oh, I like to be right. What was I right about Nate? (she insists on calling him Nate, though I honestly don't think another soul on the planet does). She's cute with her hardhat and goggles and wanders over to join us.

"That this is going to be a challenge," says Nathaniel a little grimly, looking around the echoing and damp basement, which extends well beyond the lighting system we've set up. "We'll be here for another two months at least. What do you think they'll put down here, Hawke?" I shake my head and shrug.

"I dunno. I hope I'm never in this wing though. Bethy doesn't know either. It's a little odd. I'd never want to do more then store stuff down here myself." The atmosphere in the ancient basement is unfriendly, cold. I've felt it since the day we started. Nathaniel chuckles his agreement, picking up his own hard hat and gloves. I take a sip of my Irish Breakfast tea, after slipping off my own gloves. It's my turn for a break.

"Oh, Hawke, before you get all set---could you bring me something back? Please? I forgot I needed plastic bushing for this wire. It doesn't have to take away from your break." She looks at me, all red hair and huge eyes. I groan. It's a lot of stairs. There's definitely not an elevator for this wing yet. We've got to have the bushing though, it helps protect connecting wires.

"What diameter?" I ask, a little glumly, perhaps, but more or less good-naturedly.

"Oh, thank you Hawke. I'll owe you. I'll make you cookies. I need 3 1/2." I nod and reach down, way down, to pat her shoulder and head off to the stairs again while Nathaniel grins and mutters something about "suckers".

"You keep that up and I will uninvite you to Bela's party tonight," I threaten toothlessly, and I can hear his deep chuckle follow me up the stairwell.

"I hate my life," I gasp. I've hauled myself all the way up the stairs, gone to the parking lot for the bushing, returned it to Dagna and have now made another trip up in a bid for my hour of freedom. "Hate it," I grumble, putting my hands on my knees, stare at the floor, and just let my lungs regain capacity. I'm actually in fairly decent shape, what with having a job which requires a lot of physical motion and having a slight addiction to running, but this the fifth time in less than an hour I've been up those stairs, and there are a lot.

"Surely it's not that bad, though, you do seem to spend a lot of time passing out. Do you need help?" There is an amused, slightly concerned voice, and it isn't until I've unbent my long self again and looked around, locating the source, that I recognize who it is.

Anders. Nurse Anders. Resplendent in soft, well-fitting gray scrubs and wearing that little half-smirk that I would recognize, I was sure, for the rest of my life as somehow being unique to him. I stare. Like a goldfish. This was not how I was picturing meeting him again.

"I---uh---" smooth Garrett.

"Are you ok?" he asks again, this time coming closer, concern definitely in his eyes. His eyes. I look away, quickly, because I both want to study those eyes and not be creepy and I don't think I can have both.

"Stairs." I croak, finally.

"What?" He takes another step towards me, long pale fingers gently touching my elbow. I giggle breathlessly. Because that's what 6'6" electricians do when touched by a beautiful nurse. They giggle. I feel my uncool meter skyrocketing. I yank myself back before I can do something stupid like touch him. _What is wrong with me?_

"I---stairs. There's a lot of them." I manage. "I---I've been up and down them a few times today."

"Oh, I see. Why? Oh, are you are you working on the basement renovations?" He seems impressed, which I'm sure is just being nice. I smile.

"Yes. I'm helping rewire down there." I feel awkward. I shouldn't be---distracting him. He's a nurse, right? Important, life-saving things to do.

Anders' looked toward the basement with interest.

" I don't know what they're going to use that space for," he muses. I grin.

"Neither does Bethany. She says you all are pretty well set up as is."

"Bethany? Oh, your sister, yeah?" I'm almost surprised he remembers, but he's heard of me. From somewhere. I may not get another chance to find out more.

I look at him, watch as he pulls his blonde hair out of the band that held it, then smooths it together, bundled low against his nape again. His chin and jaw are dusted in gold stubble and oh god, that's---that's sexy.

"Hawke?" He's asked me something and I was too busy perving to hear him. He's going to think I'm an idiot. A fainty idiot. I grin a little, awkwardly lurch forward. Break. I'm on break.

"Er, what did you say?"

"I asked if your sister works here, then. I know a nurse named Bethany--she---" he appraises me slowly, drawing eyes down over me as if I'm on display, and I flush. "I could see you being related. All that dark hair and those eyes."

"Ah, yes." I grin, anxiously. "Yes, that's her. That's my--baby sister." It's a little defensive, a reflex, handsome guy talking about my little sister. He laughs, and I feel my insides melt a little. I _like_ that laugh.

"Well, I see why our chaplain was so interested. Handsome family. But, don't worry, big brother. She's not my type." Again, his eyes are on me, on my chest, sweeping over my shoulders. Deliberate. Something Bethy said flashes across my mind and I grip my lunchbag tighter. He's a flirt.

"What is your type then?" It's out of my mouth before I can stop it, and I can't suppress a groan. Anders just widens his grin, not taking his eyes on me.

"You on lunch? I'm just about to take my break. Want to walk out with me?" I nod, dumbly. Because I'm caught between his laugh and he's a flirt.

I follow him out, feeling a bit like a long-legged colt standing for the first time as the October sun hits my face with no heat but plenty of bright. It's dim in the basement and I struggle to adjust my eyes now that I'm outside. We stand in silence, for a moment. I don't know what we're doing. I just wanted to eat my lunch. My soggy little sandwich, my thermos of lukewarm soup. I'd meant to heat it up before leading the building. But. I'd been distracted.

I feel naked, I decide, sneaking a side glance at Anders, who's lighting up. He's holding the lighter in his long, nervous fingers, I can see a slender wrist under the edge of a slightly worn grey coat sleeve. The bones under the pale skin are fine, and I feel the strangest desire to wrap my fingers around that wrist, to see how they would feel. I look away quickly. I'm used to having Fenris or Merrill or Siggy or someone with me in social situations--like these. Or, just not being in social situations like these. I'm a big guy, but when there's someone interesting like Fen around, or adorable and quirky like Merrill, that fact, my bigness, my awkwardness, gets lost in the shuffle. I am also used to being fairly impervious to physical attraction, to tell the truth. But Anders....and Anders offers me a cigarette. I don't smoke, but I'm almost tempted to take the white stick from those smooth, sparse fingers. I shake my head. He grins.

"Shall we sit?" He's indicating one of the long clinically white benches arranged along the edge of what appears to be a rock garden, under a tree brightly splashed with orange. I follow along behind him, vaguely noting that my legs seem to be moving without my brain or will involved in that process. I sit when I get to the bench, and he sits next to me. We are quiet for a moment while Anders smokes another cigarette, and I totally watch while pretending to dig out the sandwich I have no appetite for.

"Isn't it---isn't it a little ironic for a nurse to smoke?" Of all the things to say, that's, of course, what we say.

But Anders just laughs. Something low in my belly flips.

"You don't know a lot of nurses, I take it." His eyes gleam a little in the bright October sun.

"Aside from my sister and my mom? No. I guess not."

"A lot of nurses smoke. It's a thing. Maybe it's a protest against all the enforced good-health measures we face every day." He exhales a puff of smoke and grins, cheekily, at me. "How's--uh---what's his name? The elf that was with you when we met?"

"Oh, Fenris? He's good," remembering what Fenris thought of Anders makes me a little awkward and I could feel heat, again, over my face. Anders looks at me thoughtfully.

"How long have you---known each other?"

"Me and Fenris? Oh, it's been--" I think about it, mildly surprised by the interest in Fenris. Or, maybe not. Fenris is gorgeous--not my type---but gorgeous with his white, fine hair and his striking green eyes, enhanced by graceful tattoos. The tattoos themselves make me sick, but a stranger looking at them---Shit."It's been 15 years or so." Anders looks at me with eyebrows raised. I laugh, thinking I can guess his thoughts.

"Fen is a great guy. He's a little anti-social? Yes, that's the word. But, if you take into account his past, it doesn't surprise you so much anymore. He's been in Kirkwall for three years now." I blink, swallowing down the jealousy in my chest poorly.

"Did he move here with you?" Anders stands up, still not looking at me, and I feel oddly like I've missed something in the conversation.

"No. I moved here with my brother and sister almost seven years ago. Fenris and I caught up a few years later. He---needed a place to be. I could offer one."

"Rough life?"

"To put it mildly, yeah." I frown. I don't feel comfortable talking about Fenris' past without his permission. Anders looks a question at me, seems to change his mind.

"He's certainly protective of you," he said, slowly.

Anders is looking away now, and I am staring at that red-gold hair in the sunlight. It glints, gleams, mesmerizes. I like the way it tumbles down his neck, wonder what it would look like loose. I shake myself. "Seb was---stepping on toes. I think that's what made Fen so nervous. He was--upset. I mean, he even checked on Merrill without my having to--you know--beg him. That's," I laugh, knowing Anders doesn't know what I'm going on about, "that's a big deal. Trust me."

"Merrill is the----"

I interrupt. "Merrill is a friend of ours, of mine. I. uh, can't really say more than that." I hope I don't sound rude. He looks as if he means to press the point, leaning forward, but I cut him off, nervous now, avoiding honey-amber eyes that insist on _doing things_ to my insides. "I really want to thank you, for the other day. You were---really helpful. I don't know how to repay you. "

"It's not that big of a deal, Hawke." He draws my name forth in a strangely intimate way. He leans close to me, and Maker, I can smell him, something rich and warm. Vanilla? Sandalwood? under the smoke. I back away a little, feeling my nervous grin slide into place. A piece of hair falls down over his cheek, and before I can stop myself, before my mind can catch up with my big, stupid body, I reach out and smooth it back. He freezes, stares at me. I can feel panic shooting up my spine even as my fingers tingle at how soft his hair is.

"I'd say you could make it up to me by buying me coffee, but--it seems like...."

I am gabbling. I can't look at his face.

"Yes, oh, yes. Let's do that." I hardly know what I'm agreeing to, and I can feel that he's uncomfortable, but he just quirks an eyebrow at me as I pull out my phone. "Here---uh---if you give me your number, I'll text you mine." I can feel myself panicking, but I'm too far gone now, and I quickly tap in the number he gives me, standing up as I do so. "I have to get back to work," I mumble and almost fall over myself running back into the hospital. I'm such an idiot, I think, as I reenter the cool lobby and head down the stairs to the basement.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For what it's worth, I did not expect The Iron Bull to show up---in this fic, let alone in this chapter. Anders was contemplating the stairs, and Bull popped his head up and was like, hey, I can help with that. Don't get me wrong, I love The Iron Bull, and I feel like Anders needs someone in his corner....but I was decidedly surprised. 
> 
> This chapter is written from ANDERS viewpoint, instead of Hawke's. This will happen from time to time, unless someone tells me it's too confusing.

The woman in the lobby is crying. It's not that unusual. It's a hospital. Finding crying patients or crying loved ones isn't really that hard. But I could hear her before I'd even gotten through the heavy swinging doors, and, it being a fairly slow day in Hightown, there isn't much in the lobby except the crying woman.

She's being walked toward the automatic exit doors by an--armed---security guard. It's the sobs and difference in height between them (she can hardly be five feet) that draws my attention, and it's her physical state that keeps it. There's a nasty bruised scrape on her right cheek, her lips are bloodied, her eyes wild and dilated. She's limping, stumbling, tears sliding down her face, silently now as the guard grips under her arm, not to help her, but to pull her forward. Her green shirt is ripped and can I see a bloodied gash through the fabric, cruel against a thin arm that's being held at an odd angle. Her black hair is matted with dark, viscous fluid above her right ear. Her elven ear. I look at the guard manhandling her--every inch my height and about thirty pounds heavier. He chooses that moment to look down at the elf, and the expression on his face, that leer that I know only too well, starts something sick starts in my gut, and before I know what's happening I'm standing in front of the guard.

"What is going on here?" The guard smirks at me, even as the receptionist hurries forward to explain.

"She came in here and refused to leave. Varnell is helping me fix that problem." Idunna has a high, squealing voice and far too much appreciation for her own looks. I wonder again how in Andraste's name she got a job as hospital receptionist.

"She's injured. Fairly significantly. She needs to be seen to." I say as blankly as I can. I know why this is happening, but pretending to be in the dark can't hurt. It's been two years since medical care was legally segregated for humans and elves in the Free Marches, and it had been going on some time before that anyway, but in my old hospital, back in Amaranthine, we used to take it on a case by case basis. If someone was this injured like this? You helped. Simple as that.

"She can go to the elven clinic in the Alienage."

"That's almost a thirty minute drive," I protest. "How did you get here?" I ask the woman, but she is crying, just crying, and there is no other response. I look at Idunna."

I can't overlook hospital policy, Anders. Even if I were inclined, no one could expect us to take care away from our patients for _this_." She hurls the word "this" as if the elf is a particularly disgusting bit of trash. I look at the little woman. Her lips are white under a bloody glaze, and she is swaying on her feet. I try not to think about the several vacant beds we have right now, the several staff members who are currently playing a card game, and hang onto my temper with my fingernails. My temper will not help this woman get the treatment she needs.

"I'll treat her, at least look her over, see how bad it is" I manage between clenched teeth as I reach out toward the little elf. She lets me put an arm around her shoulder, but guard Varnell hasn't let go of her arm yet and he's looking at me with narrowed eyes. I summon all the authority I can muster. "Let go. I'll patch her up and then take her elsewhere, but you can't expect---"

"It's the law," says Idunna, a thin smile playing on cold lips. "We don't treat Knife-ears here." The little woman's knees give out, and she whimpers when Varnell yanks her upright again. I don't like the look he keeps giving her, not at all, but the slur falling so easily from the receptionist's lips catches my attention first. "If I ever," I pull away from the elf and step closer to Idunna. "If I ever hear that Maker-be-damned phrase out of your mouth again, so help me--"

"Nurse---Anders, isn't it?" I feel the sick something solidifying in my gut as I turn to face the owner of the new voice.

"Petrice." I manage as deliberately emotionless as possible. She moves toward us in clean, confident steps; her narrow eyes sweep over the situation, her thin nostrils flaring, her eyes glancing over the bruised and bloodied elf standing right in front of her and settle on me. Because I'm clearly the problem.

" _Mother_ Petrice, if you please. Why are you threatening my staff?"The voice is cool, flat, practical. It flicks on the raw.

I grit my teeth. Technically, no one is her staff, but she is the second-in-command at the chantry hospital, and may as well be in charge. We never see, and very rarely hear from, Elthina.

"This woman needs some medical care, _Mother._ I am simply trying to make sure we do our jobs before throwing people out on the bloody street." I am proud of myself, my voice is at least fairly steady and I don't think you could call it yelling.

"A--friend of yours perhaps?" She asks, her eyebrows raised, and somehow the assumption makes me want to punch the wall.

"Does she need to be a friend of mine for me to want to help? This is my job. It's yours too." I know I'm walking a dangerous line, but the elf is standing solely on the power of Varnell's harsh grasp under her forearm, and I can hear blood pounding in my ears.

"We are legally bound--"

"First do no harm," I interrupt. "That woman could die if we just throw her out." It might be an exaggeration, but the point is, we don't know that, and we should. Petrice takes a small sigh, and pats my arm. It takes everything I have not to jerk away from her. Her lips curl in a way that I think was meant to be soothing.

"Have a care Anders. We need good nurses like you, but insubordination for---such a small matter, really---would be a fairly black mark on your record."

"Fine." I snap. "Fine." I step out of the way and Varnell pushes forward, while I try to make eye contact with the elf, but her head is down as she is more than half dragged forward. I fall in step behind them, watching in sinking horror as Varnells hand wanders further down her waist then at all necessary and pushes fingers under the band of her stained slacks. I am about to launch myself at him, fuck the job to fucking hell, when Petrice clears her throat.

"Oh, and Varnell," Petrice says, her voice still placid, still flicking. He stops, fingers still embedded in her waistband, her body set now to shivering. Shock, I know. "Do come right back. We may not be able to spare resources for non-humans, but---no need to add damage, shall we say." My gut curls at this, and I get a little closer to the woman and the guard who nods briefly and removes his fingers, but not before a look of nasty disappointment flashes across his face.

"Where are we going, Anders?" Petrice is calm, still. I hate that calm, self-righteous voice.

"I've already clocked out," I mutter, feeling the muscles in my shoulder tense. "It's my shift end."

"I see. Have you turned in that paperwork I asked for last night?" I turn, carefully, breathing deliberately.

"You said I had until the end of next week to turn that in."

"I believe I find I need it. Now. Anders." Her thin lips quiver down at the corners for just a moment, before smoothing out to a plastic expression. I seriously consider turning and marching away anyway. I have little faith that Varnell will actually leave the girl be. She's not good enough to treat, but he clearly had some ideas about what she was good for. But the glass doors to the parking lot are already sliding open again, readmitting Varnell, and I can see her slumped on the edge of the curb. Petrice stays to see to that, at least, not turning away until Varnell has trailed back to whatever slimehole he came out of. That's some slight relief anyway Most of that paperwork is done, courtesy of last night's insomnia. And I need this job. Really need it. I can't afford to be protectionless again. So, it's fifteen minutes before I can get through that glass slide of doors, heart pounding, half relieved, half frightened to find that the little elf is still sitting there, where the guard left her. I feel shame and horror as I kneel beside her and she simply looks at me, as if forgiving me for being so late.

"Easy," I mutter, feeling a blush on my cheeks as I slide arms under her shaking child-light body and hoist her up against my chest. "Easy, honey. I've got you now." She doesn't fight me, but she does stiffen, moaning a little as I press too hard on the arm with the gash in it.

"Sorry, sorry, " I say, "Don't have a phone?" Knowing that I need to keep her talking until I can sure there's no concussion. "No one to come get you?"

"I---my phone broke in the accident." Her voice is soft and high, trembling ,and guilt for having not immediately left to care for her makes me want to throw up. "Hawke's truck is ruined. He's going---" she winces as I set her in my car, as carefully as I can. "He's going to be so worried."

"Hawke? You know Hawke? Big guy with black hair? Goes around with a tattooed elf?" Her eyes are closed now, and like a child, she lets me buckle her seat belt. She nods. "My family," is all the clarification I get. Hawke hadn't looked half-elven to me. Maybe she was related to---what was his name?---Fenris?

"What's your name?" I murmur, as we pull out of the parking lot. I'm keeping my eyes peeled for any more interference from hospital staff, but I don't think they can legally keep me from helping the elf on my free time. As we pull out and head down the road, I see an old pick-up truck smashed in with a small blue sedan, people and police scrambling around it. I look at the elf and she presses a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob."Your accident?" I sigh, scrubbing my hand over my face. The elf doesn't answer, her head swaying with the motion of the car.

"Hey," I reach over pinching her leg lightly. "Hey darlin', stay awake now. What's your name?"

She struggles for a moment, eyes blinking open. "I didn't mean to wreck the truck," she moans. "Whatever will Hawke say?" She's in shock I realize and scrabble with my hand toward my back seat, searching blindly until I find a sun-warmed bottle of water. I open it and push it into her lap. She takes it, to my relief, showing enough cognizance to drink the liquid herself.

"I'm sure Hawke will understand," I soothe. "What's your name?" I am trying to scroll through my contacts, and thumb the entry for the Elven Clinic. I'm doubtful about taking her there, but the only other option I have is one that's making my chest tight with nerves and a little, a very little, excitement.

"You have reached Kirkwall's Health Clinic for Non-Human Kirkwall Residents. Our hours are from 10 to 4 every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. Please have payment ready upon arrival. Please have proof of address. If you cannot verify residency, please be advised that we cannot extend our services to you at this time."

It's closed. Because of course it's closed. s _hitfuckshit_ The cool female voice has me cursing until the elf next to me shifts a little. But she doesn't say anything. And how many elves and dwarves, and even some quarni even have a way to verify residency? I live in Darktown. I know how many homeless we have amassed down there. How the hell can the Chantry sanction this?

"Right," I laugh aloud, a little loudly maybe because the elf shifts again in her seat, "My place it is." The decision sends a nervous, heady sensation down my spine and blue sparking in my fingers. I'm a nurse, and on that power alone, I can't do much more more then bandage wounds--if there are broken bones or internal bleeding, I'm going to need more then nursing. Good thing I've got it.

I live in a small set of fairly dingy apartments, just inside Darktown. The elevator broke last week, I remember, wincing as I think of the three flights of stairs I need to get this woman up. She's small and light, but I'm a nurse, and not athletic. I'm lean because it's bred in my bones and I have a tendency to forget to eat.

"Well, " I murmur to her as I gather her out of the car seat and encourage her left arm over my neck. "At least I get to play white-knight for a very pretty girl. Hang on, ok darlin'?" I wait for her answer, knowing that it's going to be important by the time we reach the top that she is helping me out at least a little. As I go toward my building, I feel something tugging at me, a change in the atmosphere, a slight electricity against my skin where her hand is touching my neck. Mage, I think, looking down at the short, mussed black hair against my chest and tighten my grip. Elf and a mage. Poor kid.

"Need help?" I don't need to turn around to recognize the gruff voice behind me at the door of my apartments and I grin in relief.

"Bull!" I put on my most appealing smile "Handsome, would you give me a hand with this passenger of mine? I don't think they've fixed the elevator and---" I look down at the elf in my arms, unnecessarily because he's obviously seen her. He looks down at her, he's the tallest person I know, and the widest, his dark skin and dark eye gleaming in the October sun as he takes us in as if we combine to make a mildly interesting riddle.

"What the hell happened?" His voice is unruffled, almost disinterested sounding, but not quite. I ignore him.

"Honey, I'm going to let my friend, Bull here, carry you up to my apartment. It's not much, but it's better then being outside, the way you are. And then I'm going to make it better. Nod if you understand what I'm saying," shifting my shoulders a bit to try and see into her face. She nods, her eyes making contact with mine. They don't look good.

"Hey," I say in my best logical-nurse voice, "We're not going to hurt you. I'm a nurse. Bull is gentle as a kitten. " Bull tuts but doesn't interrupt. "I'm here. You're safe." Sudden inspiration hits. "And, after I make sure you aren't actually dying, I'm going to call Hawke. Ok? He'll know where you live, yeah?" She nods again, the faintest touch of a smile at her lips, fingers relaxing their surprisingly biting grip on my neck, big green eyes closing as Bull meticulously gathers her from my arms.

"Mind her right arm. It's broken, I think."

"What the hell happened?" He repeats, as he begins to follow me up the narrow, dirty stairs. I turn back, marveling at the strength that has him able to hold her as if she were as delicate as blown glass.

"I don't have the whole story on what actually happened to her," I admit, waving my neighbor's little boy, Conner, as he shyly sidles past us down the stairs. "Car accident, I believe. But I brought her here because the hospital was in the process of throwing her out this afternoon, and the Alienage clinic isn't open today."

"Shit. They were going to through her out?" Bull growls out the words in a way that makes the hair on my arms stand up.

"Of course they were, and they did. They can barely stand allowing anyone who doesn't live in Hightown to use their services. Why would they accept an elf?" I am going for a light tone, and I don't know why. I am just as rattled by what occurred this afternoon as Bull sounds. I can hear a soft, high voice, but I'm far enough ahead of Bull and his burden that I can't make it out. Bull puts his head down a little, and listens and says something back quietly, surprising me by shifting an arm and touching her face. He looks up at me gravely.

"Merrill says she feels sick, Doc."

I frown. "Merrill?"

"That is her name." I turn around fully to protest this. I did ask her at least three times, after all, but one look at her startlingly pale, clammy face has me scrambling back the few steps they are behind me and pressing at hand to her face.

"Hurry." I say to Bull, my heart rate edging up a bit more as I fling myself into my apartment. Bull follows, quickly but with surprising grace for such a big man.

"Bad, huh?" He asks, as I shove cushions and a copy of American Gods off my couch and scurry to the tiny bathroom which is just off my bedroom. It only takes a moment to grab my first aid bin. This is more out of habit than anything, I know, because at this point my options are pretty narrow.

When I get back, Bull is sitting on the floor, next to the couch, with tiny Merrill carefully arranged on it. She's holding his hand, and I don't ask him to move. A quick examination confirms the broken arm, several lacerations of varying magnitude--none life threatening--a sprained, possibly fractured, ankle, and some pieces of glass embedded in the head wound above her ear. My biggest concern, by far, though is when she suddenly blacks out and I know, for sure, that we are looking at internal bleeding. I sigh, shaking out my wrists. Bull reaches out, touches my knee.

"Magic, Doc?" I nod, feeling excitement and fear sparking. It's been months since I dared to spell--mages aren't illegal, per say, not yet, but practicing is.

"Only choice. She's bleeding." Bull was an navy guy, before Quarnai were banned, and he knows what I mean. He's nothing if not practical.

"Anyone else know she's here?" His voice is flat, pragmatic, no condemnation. It's comforting.

"It's possible the people who threw her out of the hospital saw me take her with me. But I don't know how much they would really have cared at that point." I refuse to think about Petrice's obvious delaying tactic with the papers, and what that says about her position on my helping this girl. Bull grunts.

"Got a place you can go, if you need to?"

I look at him and shrug. "I'm tired of running." He nods. Bull is my only friend, real friend, in Kirkwall. He came to my door a couple weeks after I moved here a year ago, stuffed a big box of pizza in my arms and crashed on my couch because his roommate, Krem, was having company and, as Bull put it, it was not company keen on an audience. I didn't ask. He spent the night, and in the morning, since I had forgotten again to buy groceries, he'd taken me out to breakfast, plied me with pancakes, and told me he knew.

_"Don't look at me like you're going to rabbit out the door, Doc. I can smell it on you."_

_"Smell....smell it? You can smell my magic?"_

_"Yeah. Quarnai thing. You're a mage healer."_

_"What are you going to do about it?"_

_"I notice you had no food at your place. But Evelina's boys tell me you've been giving them food on the regular."_

_"What's that got to do--"_

_"Did you?"_

_"She's a good woman. I wanted to help."_

_"Well, you're a good man. You're safe from me."_

Now, the Bull is waiting patiently as I work over the elf, preparing myself. The shards of glass need to come out, the broken arm needs setting before I can pulse magic into the break and seal it. But, first, the bleeding in her stomach. With slightly shaking hands, I uncork a bottle of lyrium, one of a precious few I have managed to hide away, set it aside, have it ready.

The magic flows out of me, something I was never meant to hold. I can feel it, cool and familiar and so a part of me that I am trembling from this moment. Too long. It's been too long. It feels like a breathe I didn't know I was holding, and now my lungs, my skin, my body ache with the pleasure of letting it go. And now I remember, the exhilaration of healing with magic, of setting all the broken pieces back together, of soothing away wrong and restoring order, and health, and hope. It's been over a year since I was last desperate enough to release my magics, and that? That hadn't been healing magic. I shove the thought away and look to my patient.

The elf called Merrill begins to breathe easier, her color warming, the ugly pallor replaced by pink. Her body relaxes and her sleep is now the work of healing, not of oncoming doom. This is what I was meant to do. Bull shifts next to me, grunting his approval, even while I drop on my knees next to him on the floor. I could do more. So much more; I could heal legions with the amount of magic in my veins, and it is from the unfulfilled need to keep healing, to keep pushing my magic out and through myself until the raw pleasure-pain of ebbing mana becomes too much that I drop, not through any exhaustion.

"She's going to be fine."

"You did good, Doc." I look up at where he is still holding the delicate hand, almost unbelievably small in his. His is big enough to engulf the whole of her entire forearm.

I smile briefly, already flipping through my contacts to find Hawke.

"Can you dig out the tweezers in this box," I ask him, nudging the first-aid box with my toe as I stand, waiting for Hawke to pick up.

"Hello Anders." The deep, masculine voice on the other end is cautious. My mouth suddenly feels slightly dry.

"Hawke," I say, injecting a smile into the word. It's not hard.

"I'm sorry--Anders. I'd like to chat but, I'm...dealing with a problem right now. Is there something you needed?" He sounds tight, anxious.

"Are you ok?" I'm surprised that I ask, but his voice sounds thick, with rage or tears, I can't tell.

"No. Got a report that my truck was in an accident, and we can't find the friend that was driving it." He sounds strung-out. "So, if I could speak with you later.." He's trying to be polite.

"I have your friend. Merrill? She's here. She--I needed to patch her up a bit, but she's alright.. "

"Here? Where is here? She's alright?"

"Yes," I assure him. "She was a little worse for wear, but she'll be fine. Her phone was broken, and I needed to help her first, before I could call you. "

"Andraste," he swore, and I feel something flutter in my belly. "Thank you Anders. Where are you?" I give him the address, and there's only the briefest of pauses while he processes that I'm in Darktown. I can hear him repeating the address to someone, and can hear the far less reassuring squeal of tires stopped too suddenly and an old engine revved too loudly. But Hawke is oblivious as far as I can tell. A soft, husky feminine voice in the background repeats the address and he turns his attention back to me.

"See you in about 15 minutes," he says, voice still full of emotion.

"Yes," I say. I want to say something about making the driver be more careful, but I settle for reminding him that Merrill is no longer in danger"She's fine."

"Thanks." And then he hangs up and I take the tweezers from Bull, preparing to remove the shards while Merrill is still out.

"Want me to stay?" I nod in response to Bull, as I carefully spread a towel out on the coffee table: a place to put the glass.

"If you don't mind."

He catches my eyes with his single one, the other lost behind an eyepatch I've never seen him without."You did good, Doc." He's reassuring me while I try to block out the reality that I've used magic, and that even the smallest spells leave traces for Templars to follow for days after they are used. When the knock on the door comes, I tell myself I jump because I was concentrating on Merrill's wounds, not because I'm suddenly feeling terribly, irrevocably vulnerable.


End file.
